Attempt to Deliver

That's the imperative in my business. One must always make the attempt.

I do know of one refusal by a driver. It was '91, the first evening of the Halloween Blizzard. We still communicated then by radio, so we heard other drivers as they talked with dispatch, even with the rest of us when it was otherwise dead. There was already about 8" of snow on the ground in what would become over 30", and the route into Shakopee was a pair of roads that ran just over normal river height, and were frequently closed for spring flooding. The new 169 bridge was still just a twinkle in some engineer's eye. Both roads had just been closed by MnDOT, and reports were already coming in of snowplows getting stuck on entrance ramps and blocking all access. This driver was arguing that he was heading home with the freight rather than making any further attempt to deliver it that night. Dispatch had other ideas. However, since the roads were impassable for another 3 days, and mostly the whole state shut down until the following Monday, he never suffered any consequences that I'm aware of. Like me, he still drives for the company.

You remember the TV footage of a tornado taken by a KARE 11 helicopter news crew aloft at the time? This was also back in the good ol' days of radio dispatch. It had been a sunny afternoon, and during a pause in my schedule I watched this most amazingly fast thunderhead build just a bit northeast of my position. This could not possibly bode well. I have never seen one like it since - just as well, since that became the mother of the twister shortly thereafter. And I was dispatched a run heading off in that direction; luckily, chasing it and not ahead of it.

Suddenly the airwaves were full of chatter: I see a twister. What do I do? It's heading right towards me! Several drivers chorused in: get out of the car, stay in the car, find a ditch, drive like hell away from there, go go go!

Driving into the area less than an hour later, I was awestruck at the tree damage, including to trees on the property of the business I was delivering to. I commented on the damage as I walked in. The receptionist answered that the whole company had been sent to the shelter in the center of the building to ride out the storm, and when the all-clear was given, she returned to her desk only to find one of us knocking at their door with a package! They were impressed enough with our level of service that they used us until their company dissolved in scandal.

My own delivery stories are nowhere so dramatic. Occasionally they are worth comment. There's a whole assortment of things sent to the wrong address, often years after the recipient moved. And of course there are the ones sent to the wrong door, dock vs. front, even when you know Company X only accepts deliveries at a different door. Mostly these are only worth the comment that it takes us extra time to straighten such things out, slowing down other work that's just as urgent as the messed-up run. It's hardly worth saying that these things tend to make us look like incompetent idiots. I mean, one wants to assume that the company paying for the delivery actually knows what it's talking about, but... Well, keep dreaming.

One "wrong door" delivery sticks with me years later. It was a package going to a fancy schmancy mansion, sent to the front door. The "lady" of the house frostily greeted me at the front door by directing me around back to the "servants' entrance". One guess who then met me at the back door to sign for it!

I console myself by believing that such bad behavior is prompted by somebody living a very miserable life. Whatever the lifestyle.

The other night I had another memorable delivery. A metro electrical supply company sent me with a box of pipe-sounding parts to a manufacturing plant in rural Wisconsin. I'd been there before, and could find it in the dark. Late as it was sent, I'd need to.

The front office was dark, closed, locked. Not too surprising in companies running second shifts. The bell to gain attention, however, was inside the glassed-in vestibule, and its door was locked, on my side of the bell.

Of course.

I started driving around the building. Dark, locked. Next door, dark, locked. No shipping-receiving signs, neither on dock or overhead doors. No bells. As I was finishing my first circuit, it dawned on me that I'd seen only about three cars on the premises. If that was a second shift, it was mighty tiny. Well, go around again: maybe I missed something the first time. It's happened before.

This time a door was opened next to the cars. Better yet, someone was taking a smoking break. I flashed my car lights at him, and he came down the stairs to meet me. Turns out, he was from the boiler company, making repairs. Were they waiting for any parts from _____? He'd go check.

When he returned, another guy was with him. They weren't waiting for any parts, but he offered to go through the plant to contact the others working there (we could hear them) in order to find out whether/where they wanted the parts.

This was a longer wait. They'd gone as far as they could through the plant, only stopping when they were met with a floor of fresh concrete. (I agreed: good decision.) They couldn't find anybody or get their attention. But they would be happy to sign for the box and leave it on the floor by the boiler.

I could go home! About darn time!

I agreed, they did, and I did.

But sometimes it just doesn't end when it ends. I was nagged by the thought that the sender thought this box important enough to send me out after hours. Had I missed somebody? I did type "boiler room" after the signature, so somebody looking up the run in the data base could know where it was.

Hmmm, still not good enough. I called dispatch, but at that hour the phones were answered at a remote location and unable to be of help. I just informed them that if somebody called about the delivery, it was in the boiler room.

But....

When I got home, and was getting Daddy ready for bed, I looked up the drop company on line, found their phone number, called it, got the receptionist's voicemail, and told the machine what the delivery was, what I'd found (or rather, not found) when I got there, and where the package wound up. Somebody would be looking for it.

And still....

The next morning, I called in to regular dispatch, asked had anybody been hunting the package? and told them where it was.

Now it was right. Or as right as I could make it. Finally time to let it go.

...

Well, after blogging about it, of course.